No Longer Allowed To Pick Up Your Dead Weight

, , , , , , , | Working | March 7, 2018

(I work two different jobs, one through the week, the other only on the weekends. I have just had a minor surgery on my upper right arm. After the procedure, I am told that I am not allowed to lift more than ten pounds for the next two weeks, in order to fully recover. This is fine; my first job as a librarian allows me to sit at a computer and doesn’t often require me to carry heavy objects. My second job as a cashier, however, requires me to lift 24-packs of water, 30-packs of beer, etc., because customers often place these on the belt. I let both jobs know ahead of time that I would be having surgery, and made sure to get a note from my doctor saying I wasn’t allowed to lift more than ten pounds. I go into my second job early to hand them the note and see if I can work at the self-check lanes for my shift, which is only four hours long. There is one person who never works register, because they complain that it “hurts their back” to check for a long period of time, and they happen to be working at this time.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker #1], I had surgery the other day, and I have a doctor’s note here saying that I can’t lift more than 10 pounds. I see that [Coworker #2] is on the self-check; do you think they’ll let me switch them?”

Coworker #1: “Probably not, but we can go over and ask, anyway.”

(We walk over to [Coworker #2]. I have a noticeable bandage on my right arm.)

Coworker #1: “[My Name] has a doctor’s note saying she can’t lift more than ten pounds. Would it be okay if you moved over to a regular lane?”

Coworker #2: *takes a brief glance at my bandaged arm and sighs* “Well, my back’s been bothering me today, and I really don’t feel like checking right now.”

Me: “But I just had surgery the other day, and I have a note that says I am not allowed to lift a certain amount; it could tear the stitches.”

Coworker #2: “Well, I guess, but my back has been hurting.”

Me: *cuts in, slightly annoyed* “Look: I have an official doctor’s note, and I think that it’s a little more valid than you just saying that your back is hurting.”

Coworker #2: *huffs* “Fine, but if my back starts bothering me, I want to switch back.”

(They stalked away to the regular checkout lanes, and I took my place at the self-check. The entire time we worked, they apparently talked about me to our other coworkers, and occasionally they shot me dirty looks. They did ask what I had surgery for, as if the bandage wasn’t enough proof. Shockingly, they never did ask to switch, so I guess their back wasn’t hurting them as much as they thought!)

The Checkout Line Has Seized Up

, , , , | Working | March 7, 2018

(I am in a supermarket at the tills when the young woman in front of me, about to pay for her goods, suddenly freezes. She stands still and stares into space, down at her purse, which is falling out of her hands. She is standing in front of a plastic wall.)

Cashier: “Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?” *to herself* “P****.” *turns to me* “Can I put your things through? I’ll void her stuff if she’s ignoring me. Self-entitled snowflakes and their phones.”

(I look at the woman carefully and notice she has an epilepsy bracelet.)

Me: “Erm, I think she’s having a seizure.”

Cashier: *condescending, as if to a child* “No, because if she was having a seizure, she’d be on the floor, wouldn’t she?”

Me: “I’m a doctor, madam, and I’d like to get your manager.”

Cashier: “No. She’s a snowflake who’s looking at her phone instead of paying, and she’s holding up the queue.”

Me: *sternly* “Madam, I really do think she’s having a seizure. They don’t all writhe around on the floor.”

(I called the number on the bracelet and the ambulance came within a few minutes. Last I heard, the young woman was fine, but the cashier voided the woman’s shopping AND mine, saying that it was our choice to step out of the queue and that I must be joking if I thought I was getting my shopping back, even though I simply went outside to the ambulance to explain what had been going on.)


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The One Tax You Were Happy To Pay

, , , , , | Working | March 5, 2018

(My cousin and his family are at a restaurant they’ve visited before. My cousin’s wife is a nurse. Their young daughter is deathly allergic to nuts and some legumes, including peanuts, so the cousin’s wife carefully vets any place they eat for allergy compliance. This restaurant has always passed with flying colors, so she’s not terribly worried.)

Server: *turning to the daughter* “And what would you like, sweetie?”

Daughter: *orders her food* “And can I have a chocolate shake, please? I’m allergic to nuts and peanuts, so can you make sure it’s safe?”

Server: “Of course!” *writes “NO NUTS” and underlines it*

Daughter: “Thank you!”

(A while later, the food comes.)

Daughter: “Mom, can you please hand me a spoon?”

Wife: “Sure!” *grabs a spoon, then swipes a bit of the chocolate shake* “Food tax!”

(She takes the bite, and instantly, her eyes go wide. Before she can even swallow, she snatches the shake away from her daughter and starts waving frantically for their server.)

Server: “What’s the matter?”

Wife: “This has peanut butter in it!”

Server: “What?! Are you sure?”

Wife: “It’s loaded! Smell it yourself!”

(The server took a whiff, then grabbed the shake and ran to get her manager. The manager apologized frantically, and then went to find the source of the mix-up. It turns out, the guy making the shake had misread, “NO NUTS,” as, “ADD NUTS,” and threw some peanut butter in. He was reprimanded, the shake was remade following allergy protocols, and the little girl got her shake, but not until after her mother had tested that one, too. She never steals bites of her children’s desserts, but, for some reason, she did that day. And we’re all very grateful.)

Can’t Get Pregnant, Or Any Sympathy

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 4, 2018

(I’m recently married and struggling to get pregnant. I thought I was pregnant, but was just under such extreme stress, I missed a period. This occurs two weeks after I find out I’m not pregnant. I am talking to two coworkers I know really well. I tend to have a dark sense of humor, and if I don’t laugh about bad situations, I’ll cry.)

Me: “Well, at least I no longer need condoms! I can’t get knocked up, anyway!”

(We all laugh.)

Coworker #1: “Seriously, though, what’re the doctors saying?”

(Before I can even say anything:)

Coworker #2: “Well, you need to suck it up. My sister can’t get pregnant, either. Neither can my sister-in-law. You’re not special.”

([Coworker #1] and I just stared at her. I go out of my way to avoid talking to her now that I don’t work there. It’s six months later, and I’m still not pregnant, but we’re still trying!)

Valentine’s Crime

, , , , , | Learning | March 2, 2018

(I am seven years old in second grade. I start having stomach pains. In February, after being checked out, my doctor decides I might be lactose intolerant and tells my mom to have me stop drinking milk for a month to see if that helps my problems. My mom lets the school and teacher know that I am not to have milk. Our class makes Valentine’s Day mailboxes, and on Valentine’s Day, we all bring in cards and treats to give to our classmates. After everyone is done my teacher makes me give her my mailbox, which she then goes through and takes out all of the chocolate.)

Me: “Ms. [Teacher], what are you doing?”

Teacher: “Your mom said you can’t have milk, and these are milk chocolate, so you can’t have them.”

(She then sent me back to my desk and ate my chocolate while I cried.)

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